


VHS - A Dreamnotfound Fic

by bugwasfound



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Sweethearts, Cute, DNF, DreamSMP - Freeform, Eventual Romance, Fanfiction, Friends to Lovers, Gay, George Not Found - Freeform, Heatwaves, M/M, Minecraft, Romance, Soft lovers, Sweet, dream not found - Freeform, dream was taken - Freeform, dreamnotfound, dreamwastaken - Freeform, georgenotfound - Freeform, heat waves, secret feelings, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28373847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugwasfound/pseuds/bugwasfound
Summary: The pain of Clay not knowing about how George felt was so much better than how much it would hurt when Clay told him that he didn't feel the same way. Or, worse, what if Clay found it strange or awkward? What if their friendship changed? Was honesty worth that?Based off of the song VHS by MyKey (playlist for the fic below :))https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6EawoPfcoqRrShe5oMrF1O?si=3h24pyBdTk6JIMN62GOB2gIn this fanfiction, Dream & George live nearby each other, and Dream doesn't go by Dream yet (for story reasons). There probably won't be anything too explicit, but I'll make sure to put a warning on that chapter just in case there is!DISCALAIMERThis story is about their CHARACTERS not the actual people. Both of them have also stated they don't mind fanfiction being written about them, and they actually like reading it. BUT; always make sure you know your fic doesn't make the subject uncomfortable!!
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	1. Fine Lines

Hah. You wish.  
The notification sat, untouched, on Clay's lockscreen. He refused to give the satisfaction of being read to the person behind those words, they didn't deserve it anyways. He would much rather talk to the devil himself than his ex. Clay leaned back in his chair to stretch and let out a sigh, arms behind his head. His phone lit up again at the two-minute mark to show him that, hey, your message is unread. He grunted and flipped his phone over aggressively, showing his distaste for her.  
Attempting to distract himself, he clicked his mouse several times to wake up his desktop monitor, where it sat idle, open to Minecraft. He navigated to his list of worlds and decided to do some speed running practice to get his mind off of last night and the words he sent over text. Nothing too explicit, but enough for a cringe. He continued to create excuses for himself, saying that it was just hard living alone, and he just needed validation from someone. While he wouldn't dream of asking for it from any of his friends, his ex was a viable option. If needed, he could block her and never speak to her again. God, you're so toxic, he thought to himself wincing at the self-criticism. He shook the thoughts away with a deep breath and began rapidly clicking the mouse and pressing buttons.  
After an hour of frustrating runs, he checked Discord and found that Tommy and Quackity were in a call, and there were messages from Ranboo and George saying they would join soon. Clay made the executive decision to wait for George to join, although he wasn't sure why. Tabbing out of Discord, he tried one more speedrun practice. He tended to talk to himself a lot while speedrunning, especially when he wasn't on call with anyone. Muttering about luck, he jumped through a blocky forest, collecting a bit of wood until he spotted a desert. "Oh, yes..." He sprinted towards it, and almost immediately found a temple. "Fuck yeah," he said, jumping to the second level of the temple and began mining a block underneath him, and falling seemingly to his death. The moment he landed, Clay's friend Sapnap called him on discord, which caused him to be distracted and he moved ever so slightly onto the pressure plate below him, which activated the TNT trap that was hidden under the sand colored blocks.  
Clay slammed his desk with his fists in frustration and answered the call. "Sapnap!"  
"Hey man I was just gonna let you know-"  
Clay interrupted him. "Dude I was having the best run I've had in awhile and you called me in the middle of it!"  
“I’m sorry dude, what happened?” "I fucking exploded."  
Sapnap began to laugh harder. "I'm so sorry, but that's funny as hell."  
Clay rolled his eyes, but had to try to hide his smile. "Yeah yeah. What do you want?"  
"Oh, yeah, lots of people are on the SMP right now and Tommy is doing something that I guess is related to a big plot point, they need you to join."  
Clay cursed under his breath and checked the time and date on his computer. "Was that today? Oh, God, sorry. I'll be there in a minute, it totally slipped my mind."  
"Alright, sick," Sapnap said, and hung up the phone after a disgusting show of love where he made kissing noises into the mic.  
Chuckling, Clay took a deep breath and prepared himself for the barrage of voices he would hear soon. When there were any more than four or five people in a voice call, and especially if one of those people was Tommy, calls often felt like more of a chore than something he enjoyed. Clay hoped that later maybe he and George or Sapnap could call just the two or three of them, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately. Clay knew that hope often leads to disappointment, even for little things like that.  
He glanced over at his phone, still facing downwards, and though about checking it, but he knew he would get lost in the conversation from last night, reading and rereading what he had typed out. That usually leads to nothing but embarrassment, Clay knew, so he left it alone and quickly joined the discord call before he could cause any more awkward encounters for himself.  
* * * *  
"Yes, yes, Tommy I know," George said tiredly, "but we can't just blow it up!"  
"Why not?!" Tommy spat, "Wilbur did it and he's fine! Sort of."  
"Because. Oh my God, Clay, tell him."  
After a few seconds of silence, Tommy burst into laughter and Clay's voice came back, hurriedly saying "No, no, you can not just blow it up, Tommy."  
George wondered why Clay had muted, but tucked the thought away to ask later, when he hoped maybe just he and Clay would call. Ignoring the gentle wave of nerves that came over him at the thought, George tuned back into the conversation, where Clay was telling Tommy that there was no way he could blow up anything without severe consequences, since Tommy was already on probation ever since his pardon from exile. George smiled slowly and butted in.  
"Okay but, Clay, if you think about it, this could benefit you."  
George heard the eye roll in Clay's voice. "No, it couldn't, George. That's dumb, that's so dumb."  
"Now, now, be nice Clay!" Tommy said. "He's just trying to help, okay, no need to be rude about it."  
"Yeah, Clay," George teased, "No need to be rude."  
"Oh my God, George," Clay said through his laughter, "I said I had to go like ten minutes ago. Seriously this time, guys, I need to go."  
"Fine, fine, I'll see you around, Clay."  
George sighed with faux disappointment, though somewhere in him, he knew that was partially where his true feelings lay. "I'll see you, Clay. Are we on for a call tonight?"  
There was a pause and then Clay responded with a quick yes, but was interrupted by Sapnap unmuting himself, and letting out a huge burp to the disgust of Tommy, who protested exceedingly loudly. "Don't forget about me, Clay," Sapnap sang.  
"I could never," Clay said, mocking Sapnap's tone, and then left the call.  
"Alright, I think I'm going to go now too," George said, "I've got to take a shower soon, and I can't forget to eat dinner too."  
George said his goodbyes and left Sapnap and Tommy alone in a call, which was always an interesting duo. With a sigh, George decided he should probably go eat. He walked downstairs to the kitchen and made a sandwich, consuming it in a few quick bites while he leapt back up the stairs to the bathroom. Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, he switched on the shower and turned it as hot as possible. Ever since a few weeks ago, George had a bit of an affinity for hot showers. As the steam rose, George let his mind wander back to the night he had a realization.  
The tears.  
The embarrassment.  
The anxiety and thoughts flowing fast.  
George realized he was holding his breath and winced as he stepped onto the cold tile of the shower, his toes curling. He was not in the mood to relive what had happened and the tsunami of emotions he felt. He had come to terms with the fact that he might not be what he thought he'd been his whole life, but the idea of telling anyone that he had feelings for another guy still made him nervous. Of course he knew that his friends would accept him no matter what, but what if his feelings changed? Would he tell his family? His fans? And what if then his feelings changed? Would everyone turn against him, calling him fake and awful and terrible and much worse. The thought of it made him sick. And all that was before he considered telling the one he had feelings for.  
And that, that final thing, was what really kept him awake at night. The thought tortured him, returning every time his mind was free of conscious thought, running in the background no matter what else was going on. It wasn't the fact that he had the feelings, because again, he had accepted them as they were. It wasn't even the idea of telling him, but more the thought of having his feelings dismissed. George continued to run scenarios in his head of admitting how he felt and every one ended the same way; a hurting heart.  
George sighed. The pain of Clay not knowing about how he felt was so much better than how much it would hurt when Clay told him that he didn't feel the same way. Or, worse, what if Clay found it strange or awkward? What if their friendship changed? George had spent years living nearby Clay as kids, and they grew so close in elementary school. Their bond continued even when Clay moved schools, and once the two could drive, they were inseparable. George smiled at the memories of them at the park together, trading Pokémon cards and riding bikes. He let the scorching water run down his back as his thoughts wandered. He flipped through his fuzzy memories as he washed himself, his hair growing darker as the strands soaked up the water. He rinsed himself of suds, and mindlessly wished he could wash himself of his thoughts as well.  
George turned and watched the endless waterfall of droplets fall to the floor, an infinite stream burning his torso, dripping over his body and encapsulating him in heat. The burn hurt, but he liked it. It was satisfying. George sighed and figured he should get out soon.  
He switched the shower to 'off,' and almost immediately began to shiver. The water wasn't so infinite after all, he supposed. He began drying himself off, mind still running. He smiled to himself as he compared his overworked brain to an overheated computer, his thoughts running so fast that the CPU gets too hot, and the interior fan began to blow. Throwing on some sweats and a t-shirt, George flopped into bed, hair dripping. Checking his phone, he mumbled to himself. He had accidentally stayed in the shower for almost an hour, much longer than usual. He had three missed calls from Clay and a ton of chats.  
Hey  
Hey stupid  
Georgeeee  
Hey!  
Where are u  
I wanna hangout  
I'm bored  
Answer me dumbass  
George please I'm so fucking bored  
George smiled and began typing. ‘Hey, sorry Iwas in the shower. I'm free to hang now though, what you wanna do?’  
Almost immediately, George saw Clay's bitmoji appearing over the chat box and begin typing.  
‘Damn shawty ;) you didn't send me any pictures :/‘  
George smiled. Even though he knew Clay was joking, some part of him deep down in the depths of his stomach felt aflutter. Ignoring the comment, George said, I'll be over in a minute. Clay sent a happy face, and George smiled. He jumped off his bed and grabbed his wallet, using his phone to call an Uber. While at times, George felt partially impaired since he didn't have a car, he knew it was sort of a waste of money. He didn't go out much, things he needed were within walking distance, and the things that weren't could just be delivered.  
After the Uber arrived, they took the short, few minute drive to Clay's house. They lived so close to each other, George could have walked. It would be a workout, but it was possible. The Uber driver dropped him off close to the stairs, and George took them two at a time up to Clay's apartment. He knocked twice, two short raps, and the door was almost immediately opened.  
Clay stood smiling impishly, holding Patches the cat in his arms. George smiled at the cat hair covering Clay's green sweatshirt. "Hey," George said nonchalantly. "I didn't bring anything, I'm sorry."  
Clay tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in confusion, but his smile didn't waver for a moment. "I didn't ask you to, dumbass. Come in! I have pizza and vodka, but that's for later."  
George raised his eyebrows, attempting to hide the anxiety he felt rising in his throat. "What, are we 20 again? We haven't gotten drunk together in forever."  
Clay shrugged. "I figured now was as good of a time as ever, but of course you don't have to drink. I just thought it could be fun." The sentence ended, but George felt as though it was open ended, or maybe there was something else Clay wanted to say, but George shrugged it off. He was letting his own feelings twist his friends words.  
Clay led Goerge into the kitchen, where two boxes of pizza sat, steaming, next to a tall bottle of vodka. George thought about the time that they had drank in high school at a party. Clay became double his normal personality, extra loud and teasing, flirting with everyone they saw. George remembered everyone telling him that he also loosened up, compared to his usual more reserved personality. He and Clay had taken the bus back to Clay's house after the party, where his parents were fast asleep. The two teens crashed in the same bed, and when George awoke first he remembered scrambling to the floor despite the protests of his aching head. He shook his head gently in the present, wondering how he didn't notice the signs before recently.


	2. Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two characters get to hangout in person this chapter, and confusing feelings arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Quick note, if you have emetophobia (fear of vomiting/seeing another person vomit), proceed with caution! There are two scenes where that happens in this chapter (hangover things) so I apologize in advance!  
> Also there are some formatting improvements in this chapter (I figured out how to use italics >:)) and did some research into other stories here to figure out the best spacing and all that so hopefully this chapter is a bit easier to read.  
> Thank you all for the Kudos!! I wasn’t expecting anything so your comments and Kudos means so SO much to me, thank you :)  
> Enjoy!  
> \- Bug

They finished almost both of the pizzas Clay bought, and ended up slumped on the couch, warm and full and competing against another team in Call of Duty. Clay stood and stretched with his hands on his back. “Okay, you planning on drinking anything?”

George glanced up at him. “Uh, yeah I think I will.” 

“Okay,” Clay said with a coy smile. “I wanna play a game.”

“Like, a drinking game?” George laughed. “We really are 20 again, huh?”

Clay grinned. “What? It’s not like it's gonna hurt anything.” He sat back down on the couch next to George and put his hands together in a pleading motion.  
“C’mon, George… It’ll be way more fun than just drinking it straight. You’re telling me you don’t miss fun drinking like that at all?”

George looked up into his eyes, and Clay’s breath hitched. He had never noticed how long his friends lashes were before, and how they graced his dark eyes like the outlines of a painting. _What the fuck?_ The abnormally appreciative thought almost caused Clay to miss George’s acceptance of his idea while Clay sat recognizing the thought patterns. He used to think things like that often about someone else… someone he had feelings for. 

_No. No way..._

“Fine,” George submitted, “We’ll do a drinking game.” The last two words were said mockingly with his hands up and palms out, and Clay smiled at his change in tone, shaking off the previous train of thought.

“Yes! And you’re sure you want to, right? I’m not trying to get caught in a twitter controversy where everyone thinks I convinced you to get drunk.”

George huffed. “Oh my God, Clay, yes. I’m not an idiot, I would say no if I didn’t want to.”

Clay held up his hands in defense. “Okay, okay! Just covering my bases.”

“Go get the drink, dumbass.”

Clay called as he walked away, “So, what are we thinking? Never have I ever? Two truths and a lie?” 

George’s stomach turned a bit as he thought about the possibilities of that one combined with both his inability to lie, and alcohol. “Nah, we know almost everything about each other anyways,” he played it off.

“True,” Clay said, coming back into the room with the bottle and two shot glasses clutched between his slender fingers. George’s eyes were drawn to the freckles that dusted Clay’s hand, a rare but cute feature. His gaze travelled up Clay’s wrist, where dark blonde hair crept up his forearms to meet with his rolled up sweatshirt sleeves. “Okay, well, I just learned about this new game called Match. Want me to teach you?”

George blinked hard, pulling his eyes away from Clay’s arms. ‘Oh, uh, yeah. Sounds good.”

Clay wondered briefly what thoughts his words had distracted George from, and set down the two glasses. He pulled a deck of cards and a die from a drawer in the coffee table, and George sat up, at attention. Clay shuffled the deck and split it into two, handing George one and keeping one for himself. Their hands briefly touched for a second, and Clay felt an unfamiliar thrill from the stomach down, leaving him a bit weak in the knees. 

_First of all, pathetic how touch starved you are,_ he told himself, _Second of all, what was that?_

“Clay?”

He realized he had frozen for a split second. “Yeah, uh, sorry. Okay so, one of us will roll the dice, and then whatever number it makes we have to find that in our deck. And then whoever puts the number down first wins, and loser takes a shot.” Clay looked up to find George staring at him, and wondered how long he’d been looking. The tension was thick in the air, causing a weight of anxiety on both boys’ chests. 

“Okay, lets play, then!” The unnaturally loud words spilled from George's mouth, attempting to break the swampy atmosphere.

Clay picked up the die and rolled it around in his palm for a few seconds, then let it it fly across the coffee table. The clattering of the die broke the moments of silence that had just occurred, which was abnormal for these two, and they both knew it. 

The die landed on six, and George cursed under his breath as he scrambled through his cards, but right as he spotted one, Clay threw down a six of hearts. 

“Hah! Gotcha,” Clay proclaimed proudly. “Shall I?” He gestured to the full bottle of vodka on the table, and George felt his nerves prickle the lining of his stomach. 

“I guess you shall,” he said with a smile. 

Clay filled one of the shot glasses, and then after taking a second to consider, poured the other one as well. “Might as well start off strong,” he said confidently. 

George shook his head with a smile. 

“What!” Clay protested, “I just wanna have fun!” He handed the drink to George and watched him for the cue on when to down it. George bit his lip for a moment, to Clay’s delight, and lifted the glass to his lips. Clay waited a split second then took his shot as well. 

George almost immediately choked a bit.

“Pussy.” Clay coughed.

In teasing disbelief, George opened his mouth in shock while trying to hide that he was clearing his throat still. “Whatever, I don’t do this often. Let's keep playing.”

He swept the die off the table and shook it in his hand. Clay couldn't help but let himself look at George’s pale hands for longer than he normally would. He scolded himself mentally for what had to have been the thousandth time tonight. 

“Ah! A four.” George searched through his deck for a moment, and almost immediately found what he was looking for. “Yes! A four of hearts. We’re all about the hearts tonight, huh,” George observed, then looked up to find Clay laughing at him. George smiled, defensively leaning away from Clay, “What did I say?”

Clay wheezed like a tea kettle. “I don’t know, you’re just… cute.”

George’s smile faltered. Why did Clay do this to him? Was it possible that he knew George’s secret? Was it possible that he was messing with him? Toying with his emotions?

Clay quickly quieted down. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I just wanted to say it. I know we joke a lot, but…” 

George held his breath.

“But you’re my best friend. It’d be kinda fucked if I didn't appreciate you sometimes, right?”

George felt his stomach sink, but he held up the attitude. “Yes of course. You know I think you’re cute too.” George tried to pretend to be holding back a smile to keep up the teasing air, but it seemed like the tension had returned. Silence fell over the two for a moment, and it felt like an eternity to George. He wanted to break the silence, but no words came to mind. Oh God, was this awkward? He wanted, no, needed something to say or do, anything oh please could literally anything happen? The silence was almost painful until-

Clay took a quick, deep breath and turned away from George, and it was only then that George realized they had been leaning closer to each other. _Wait, what?_ Part of him was hoping for something he knew would never be possible, but the more rational side of him knew that he was probably making the situation bigger than it was. He calmed his thoughts as Clay began to pour his second shot, joking about how ‘if only his mom could see him right now.’ She always was strict when it came to alcohol.

George was now five shots in, and Clay was pouring his sixth. Somewhere around the third Clay had decided to light some candles while joking about ‘the mood,’ which was either a stroke of genius or the mistake of the year. George noticed that when they talked, their two voices blended together in a warm symphony, one that didn't make sense, but it didn't necessarily need to. 

“C’mon, Gogy, don’t give in on me now,” Clay said.

“Eh, I won't. I’m just starting to feel it a lot more now,” His head spun a bit as he turned his head quickly from one side of the room to look at Clay. 

Clay, with his stunning green eyes that reflected the dim candlelight warmly, with his dirty blonde hair swept gracefully across his forehead in waves. Clay, with his voice like hot butter that slid over George. It caused heat to spread slowly across his whole body, sending waves of tingly nerves following quickly behind. George sat, mesmerized by the swift motion of Clay bringing the shot glass to his mouth and swallowing it in one gulp. George watched his hands, his throat, his mouth, his tongue, all of it working together to create this painting of a man. With the intensity of his stare and inner dialogue, George didn't even notice his knee leaning on Clay’s.

_He’s so beautiful._

George thought the words before he could stop himself. The thought pattern was dangerous, and if he continued in this way, it could lead to something worse. George was letting himself fall for his childhood best friend. 

What a fucking clichè.

Clay casually wondered if George was watching him as he lifted the glass to his lips. He became so much more confident with the help of alcohol. Everything he did was a clumsy performance. Addiction ran in his family, so he was always careful with how much he drank, but right now, he could not care less. All that mattered was George’s knee touching Clay’s. The moment they made contact, Clay felt as though he would do anything to keep George from moving. He wanted to go lie down with George in an open field until they decomposed into nothing, their bones intertwined as the birds picked at them and the grass and flowers grew through their ribs. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

Now it was George’s turn to take a drink, and as he was pouring, he took a swig straight from the bottle. Clay laughed a little too loudly, and George looked startled. 

“Oh, sorry,” said Clay, “I didn't mean to scare you.”

“No no, it's fine.”

“Oh- okay. My turn.”

Clay rolled the die and searched his deck, but his fine motor skills failed him for a moment, and George beat him to the punch. 

“Guess I gotta drink, yeah?” Clay said, smiling at George. God he looked cute. His cheeks were so flushed and his eyes drifted so slowly over everything, taking it all in as if he had never seen the house before. _He’s so red,_ He thought, the smile only growing across his face.

“Yeah, I s’pose. Only if you wanna, though. No rush.”

“No rush?” Clay giggled.

“No… rush? N-no worries? Whatever.” George smiled back and the words were taking over Clay’s mind before he could stop it, advertising at every billboard along the train of thoughts. 

_Kiss him. I want to kiss him._

Clay sat in shock, staring at George’s lips for a second too long. Snapping out of it, he downed his shot. After a bit of debate, he grabbed the bottle and took a good,  
long drink of it, so long in fact that he came up coughing and sputtering, the vodka burning his throat and distracting him from whatever was going on in his head. He sat, breathing heavily for a moment, the warm colors of the room swirling ever so slightly around him. 

“George…” the name came out of Clay’s mouth as easily as his breath, his voice turned from buttery to a husky mumble. He pulled one leg up onto the couch clumsily, turning to face his friend. “George, I…”

His mind was racing with everything he wanted to say. The silence was almost unbearable for George, but for Clay it was screamingly loud. His thoughts of George were all overlapping and the words he needed to say were not at the top where he needed them to be. He squinted his eyes closed for a few seconds, trying to drown out all of the noise, but it got worse. One chant, however, seemed to overpower what all the other voices were saying. 

_Kiss him._

_Kiss him._

_Kiss him._

_Kiss him!_

Clay opened his eyes and saw George looking on, concerned for him. 

“I think… I think I should go.” 

Clay’s eyes widened. “Wh- what?”

George shook his head and stood quickly, wavering a moment as he grabbed his sweatshirt off of the floor. “I’m sorry, I just… Need to clear my head.” He ambled over to the door and did not look back. 

Clay sat back on the couch, his stomach churning. Maybe he shouldn’t have drank so fast. Last time he did that, it led to an hour over the toilet. Added to that, his head was spinning from the emotions he was feeling. Surely he was just drunk. Surely he didn't really want to kiss his best friend. 

Kiss George? Did he really want to do that? 

Before Clay could even think to stop himself, he imagined it happening. Their lips meeting in brief heat of the moment, fanned into heedless fists grabbing handfuls of clothing desperately. His hands wandering through George’s hair, over his shoulder, his chest, his torso. Hands slipping under shirts and hot breath on cheeks and teeth knocking together in a synchronized mess and-

_Oh God._

Maybe he really did have feelings for George. 

The realization was too much for Clay’s drunken brain. Slapping his hand over his mouth, he sprinted to the trash can in the kitchen and held it under his face as he spilled his guts into it. Breath heaving and face red, Clay sighed as he lost his dinner, but even that wasn’t enough to calm his churning stomach. 

At least he wasn’t dizzy anymore.

George stumbled through his front door, head pounding. He remembered why he never drank anymore now. Thankful for the fact that Uber had drivers available 24/7, he had tipped the guy who drove him more than he usually would, knowing that Clay was in no state to drive him home, and staying the night there was absolutely unthinkable. Running his long fingers through his hair, he slumped against the door. 

“God, get ahold of yourself,” he muttered angrily. It was okay to have feelings; he thought, but right now they were controlling his every move. He interpreted every word from Clay’s mouth as something it would never be. He lightly thumped himself on the head and continued scolding under his breath. 

Reaching into his back pocket, George pulled out his phone, attempting to distract himself. He chewed his thumbnail while he scrolled, a bad habit he thought he’d broken a few years ago but had now returned with a vengeance. He could feel the anxiety biting at his ankles, forcing him to run until he dropped to the ground, awaiting the panic that would inevitably sink its teeth into him. 

Somehow he was able to slip his shoes off and make his way to the couch. He dropped as if he hadn’t slept in days, and almost immediately began snoring. The moonlight from his window fell across his face, gently lighting his peaceful expression. Nightmares left George alone tonight.

George awoke to the feeling of bile rising in his throat. Always a great way to start your morning.

He rushed to the bathroom and practically fell over the toilet, coughing and retching up little to nothing. With every gag, his eyes felt like they would pop out of his head and his vision darkened around the edges. Leaning back against the side of the tub, George took a deep, shaky breath to try and stop his brain from pounding out of his skull. 

George gritted his teeth and stood up, flushing the toilet and spitting into the sink. He gave his teeth a quick once-over with his toothbrush, making a note to boil it later to clean it from the acidic bile he had just scrubbed from his mouth. As he walked down the hallway back to his couch, he kept a hand on the wall to steady himself. It felt like there were miles of hardwood between him and where he wanted to be; laying on the soft cushions half asleep. 

When he finally sunk into the couch, he noticed his phone thrown across the end table. He reached for it, but found that it was dead. With a sigh, George figured he should charge it, but just the idea of getting up again felt as though it would kill him. He rested his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and laying in the sunlight for a moment before taking another full breath and standing slowly to his feet. He padded into the kitchen to find the charger, snatching a banana off the counter on his way. He plugged in his phone and began peeling the fruit, looking out the window. As if in a daze, his eyes were glued to one spot outside, but he wasn’t really looking. His thoughts were elsewhere.

He was plucked from a daydream by the familiar sound of his ringtone, notifying George that his phone was charged a bit and someone was trying to reach him. He looked down, brow furrowed, and saw the name across the top of his screen.

_Mom._

“Oh, shit,” he cursed, remembering he was supposed to talk to his mom last night. Ever since his parents and younger sister moved out of Florida a few months earlier, they had set up weekly phone calls so as not to lose touch. Quickly, he set down his breakfast and traded it for his cellphone, answering with a muffled, “Hello?”

“George! Thank God,” his mom exclaimed, “you didn't call me back last night or this morning, I was worried. What were you doing?”

“I’m okay mom. I was just out with a- with a friend, and I didn't see your call, I’m sorry.” For some reason, George didn't mention that the friend was Clay, even though his mom knew him like she knew her own son. 

“Alright, if you insist that you’re fine, I'll leave you alone.”

George was slightly amused as he pictured his mother’s face as she said those words. He knew she wore an expression that said quite the opposite of what she was implying with her tone; she wanted nothing more than to ask questions about what George had been doing and why he didn't tell her the full truth. “I promise, mom, I’m fine.” The words were gentle, almost an apology. “What have you all been up to?”

“Well, as you know, I unpacked the last box last week. It’s been such a hassle to have them all over the house, it was causing quite a problem. You know if I’d had my way…”

Her voice faded into the background as George balanced the phone on his shoulder and reached for his banana again, wandering around the house while his mom ranted. He didn't mean to not listen, but his thoughts were still running a hundred miles an hour, and his head was still throbbing. 

_Did Clay notice I was acting weird? He must have._

_I wonder if he knows._

_What if he showed up right now?_

George nervously looked up at the front door from his position in the middle of the living room, then shook his head. _Why would he be here, he asked himself, he wouldn’t come all the way here just to… what? Ask me if i have feelings for him?_

“George?”

His mother yanked him from his train of thoughts once again and he cringed. She would know something was up now, she always did. 

“George really, what’s going on?”

George felt anger rising in his chest. She interrupted his thoughts after talking about her own problems for so damn long, she didn't even really care. She had always been nosy, she just liked feeling like she was a part of things. Remembering these bottled-up emotions made George angrier than he had been in quite awhile. “Oh, my God, mom, you don’t actually care.” Stunned silence. “You just like feeling included. I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

He heard a small sniff on the other side of the phone, and was immediately filled with regret. “Mom, I-“

“No, no. You’re right George. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you,”

He was silent for a moment while he mulled over his words, biting his lip. “Mom, seriously, this is not your fault. I snapped at you when I shouldn’t have.”

She sighed. “Honey, I really am worried about you. And not just because you didn't answer the phone. You’ve been… distant. Your texts seem so sad and heavy. Are you okay? If you don’t want to talk about it I understand, but just know I’m here for you.”

It was George’s turn to tear up. He briefly considered telling his mother everything, spilling about how he liked guys, and how he had feelings for Clay, and how last night he thought Clay was about to kiss him, but he knew that would be too much. He would tell her, just not today. 

“I know mom. I really am sorry.” He rubbed his face with his hand, scrubbing the tears from his eyes before they could spill out.“I've just been stressed with streaming and everything. It’s a lot of pressure from people I don’t even know. I love my fans and the support, of course, but it's just… a lot.”

He could hear the stress in his mother’s voice. “George,” she said slowly, “Maybe you should take a break?”

“No!” Realizing he had almost shouted, George checked himself. “No. I don’t need to stop, I just need to manage it better.” 

Streaming kept him sane. It distracted him from what he was really thinking about with chat speeding by, the donations with sweet or funny messages, and new subscriptions flooding in. He could focus on how much he loved and appreciated all these people who supported him instead of how much he loved his best friend. 

His mom dropped the suggestion and changed the subject, not wanting a repeat of Goerge’s outburst if she went too far, and after a few minutes of idle chatter and a word from his sister, George said his goodbyes and i-love-you’s and hung up the phone. He took a deep breath and looked around the hallway, where he’d come to rest as he wandered aimlessly around the house. He pressed on the bridge of his nose, attempting to relieve his head, but found no release. Making his way to the bathroom, he reached into the cabinet and grabbed a couple Ibuprofen, popping them under his tongue and getting a drink from the faucet to wash them down. 

Suddenly, his phone rang again. He rolled his eyes, assuming it was his mother, and checked it. 

_Clay._

Clay was calling him right now, as he stood in his bathroom with a hangover. It felt as though George’s thoughts about Clay had brought this curse upon him, like he had summoned him with the amount of times the name ‘Clay’ went through his head. 

Before he had time to consider, he hit accept. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, dude. I just wanted to… check on you.”

Silence. 

“You left in such a hurry, I was worried about you.”

George huffed. “Why is everyone worried about me?”

“Wh… what?” 

“I’m fine. I’m an adult, not a fucking kid. I can handle myself.”

Clay was obviously offended. “Okay, okay! Chill out.”

“No, this is stupid! Everyone is still treating me like I can’t take care of myself. What have I done to prove that to you? I’m not a child!”

“George. What the fuck are you talking about?”

George looked up into the mirror at his own face, flushed from the flare of emotions, and suddenly felt embarrassment creep over his back. Why was he treating everyone so badly?

“George?”

He rested his hands on the counter top and leaned forward, looking himself in the eyes. 

“If you’re not gonna talk, I’m going to hang up the phone.”

After a moment, George responded defeatedly. “I’m here.”

“Good. Now get your shit together. What the hell is wrong? You know you can talk to me, right? Key word, _talk._ In a normal tone?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I’m sorry Clay.” When there was no response, George continued, “I really am sorry. I just feel… awful right now, emotionally and physically. I know that’s not an excuse to treat everyone around me like shit but I wanted to at least explain why I was doing it. But, I’m sorry. You were just trying to help.”

“Yeah, dickhead, I was.” George smiled at the annoyance in Clay’s voice. _Why was he so cute?_ George was all about soft thoughts about Clay, but now was not really the time for it.

“Thank you for checking on me. I had a rough morning.”

George explained how he had woken to nausea and then immediately had his mother bombard him with her worries, which he knew came from a good place but he was just really not in the mood for it. 

“She’s always been like this. It makes me feel like she doesn’t actually give a shit about whatever she’s asking me about.” At this point George had sat on the floor of the bathroom, leaning against the counter. “I felt bad, though.”

“You apologized, right?”

“Of course! I’m not that much of an ass.”

There was a soft laugh from the other end of the phone.

 _Like honey,_ George thought. 

“Well, I hope you feel better. We’re gonna have to get out more often I guess if this is how one night treats you.” There was a smile in Clay’s voice.

“I suppose,” George said slowly, “but where would we go?”

“Oh, uh, I dunno. Didn't really think that far. I can try to find some kinda party for us to go to.”

George made a face, nose scrunched. “Ew. You know I hate parties. Plus we are way to old for that kind of thing.”

“George. We’ve literally been to one party, in high school. We’re adults now! College age adults! We should experience one more, at the least.”

“You’re such a child. Maybe we could go to like, a bar or something. Work up to a party,” George shook his head, “ _if_ I even decide to go.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I'll find something for us to do this weekend.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Okay! It’s a date.”

George was floored.

“A what?”

“A… A date?”

For the third time in this one phone call, there was silence.

“George, it was a joke, chill. Why are you so uptight about things lately?”

Now George’s heart was racing for a different reason. “No, I was- I was going along with the bit.”

“Ah, I see. Well, uh, in that case, yeah, a date.” Clay grinned. 

“Okay, well, see you then, date.”

“Yeah, okay lover!”

The two stayed on the phone for a minute, continuing to give each other increasingly ridiculous nicknames until they finally hung up. 

Why was it so much harder to make plans nowadays? George always felt as though there was something keeping them apart, an invisible wall separating the two, not allowing them to meet up. He briefly wondered if it could be him. Was George keeping himself from Clay because of how strong his own feelings were?  
George sat down at his kitchen table. He had done way too much deep thinking about his intentions recently.


	3. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay’s mind is everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, I haven’t had a lot of time lately. Sorry about that! Ill try to make the next one longer if I can :)  
> \- Bug

“Bye chat! Thank you guys for watching!”

Clay moved his mouse up to the word ‘end’ and clicked, his mood almost immediately changing. His shoulders slumped as he sank into his chair, eyes staring blankly ahead. He hadn’t been in the mood to stream lately, but his twitter was starting to get some attention as people noticed it had been a few days, so he did a short surprise stream on the SMP. Now, he was exhausted. 

He grabbed his phone and checked Twitter, avoiding his DMs, where an unchecked message lay silent. He saw that he was getting a few mentions, so he navigated over to them and began reading.

_idk, clay seemed kinda upset today on stream :/ do you guys think he’s ok?  
he’s a grown man, y’all. he’ll be fine  
BRUHH when he and tommy walked by each other i DIED it was so funny  
to be fair it wasn’t a lore stream. he was probably just not in character._

A crease between Clay’s brow began to appear. He should’ve expected that someone would notice, out of his hundreds of thousands of stream viewers. He almost wanted to tweet that he was okay, but that would only draw more attention to the situation. Instead, he turned off his phone with a satisfying click and made his way to his kitchen for lunch. Glancing at the clock on his way there, he noticed it was close to half-past-one. Almost twelve hours had passed since his weird night with George, where he felt something more for his friend for the first time. 

After George had left, Clay waited until he saw the Uber pick him up to make sure he was safe. He laid in his bed for an hour or two, tossing and turning and processing what had happened. Since he woke up from a nearly sleepless night, Clay had been distracting himself from thinking about what happened too much. He went right to streaming, ignoring what he really wanted to do.

Now that he was alone with his thoughts, he wanted to try letting his mind wander to see where they would go. 

_Do I still want… that?_

Part of him wanted to believe that he had just been under the influence, the drinks he’d had muddied up his thoughts and confused the intrusive ones with the ones he actually _did_ want. Part of him really believed that, but another, more hidden part of his heart sneered at his ignorance. Deep down he knew the truth, but he was not one to accept it blindly, he’d figure it out for himself. Scrunching his eyes tight, he imagined George and him together. They were standing in Clay’s childhood bedroom from his old house, strangely the same age as they were now, but in the place from his past where they’d spent the most time together. Odd placement, Clay thought, but continued to allow the scene to play out with no interruptions.

It didn't take long for him to see himself kissing George, grabbing a handful of his soft cotton shirt. Nudging his chin forward into the kiss, Clay flattened his hand and pushed George backwards onto his bed. George’s shirt matched the soft yellow of the quilt laid across the bed, an odd detail that stood out. Clay’s hair fell over his forehead and brushed George’s cheek as Clay kissed his jawline. George was breathing heavily, warmly, into Clay’s ear. It caused shivers to spread over Clay, and-

That’s enough, Clay thought, and his eyes fluttered open. 

He noticed he was breathless, and he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands as if to ground himself back to the present. 

“ _Fuck._ ” 

Emotions were running too high to not process aloud.

“Fuck.”

He needed a plan, a course of action, some way to get his thoughts together. He needed to see George, and he knew that he would this weekend, but he was also terrified of how he was going to act around him. Clay tended to not be able to hide what he was feeling very well. He could lie easily about anything, but the second his own feelings were involved, he became a stuttering, blushing mess. It didn't help that it got worse the stronger the emotions were. He wasn’t going to be able to hide this new realization from George for long. 

He and George were honest with each other anyways, and Clay briefly considered straight-up telling him how he felt. He imagined a scene where he admitted his feelings, and the George he created in his mind got so angry at him for not being honest sooner and making things weird. He saw him being kicked out of the house where they’d spent so much time together, angry words shouted at him by his best friend, sharp words being thrown back and hurting them both forever.

 _Yeah, that’s not happening._ The scene he created was far too intense to risk it actually happening.

Going back to thinking about the plan for the coming weekend, Clay remembered that he had joked with George about going on a date, but now he wanted to ensure that there wouldn't be an awkward moment. There was enough tension when the two hung out at home, Clay did not want to imagine what it would be like to feel that while out at dinner or longer. 

Thinking it would be easier with more people, Clay texted a group chat that he, George, Sapnap, and another one of their long-time, real-life friends had for gaming stuff. He mentioned that he and George wanted to go out this weekend to get some drinks and walk around South Beach, Miami. Darryl, their mutual friend who went by BadBoyHalo online, replied first.

_I’d love to go ^-^_

Sapnap, recorded in Clay’s phone as Nick, was next to reply, and he seconded Darryl’s message, excited that they were making plans to hang out for real instead of asking who wanted to call.

 _Awesome!_ Clay typed, _I can’t wait._ Although he had already replied, he was still not-so-patiently awaiting to see what George said. While he waited, he absentmindedly checked Twitter, scrolling through his home page. His finger wandered over to the direct message section, almost of its own accord, where he saw the message he had kept waiting for so many days.

_Hah. You wish._

The text was in reply to a joke Clay had made about visiting South Beach, where his ex, Nicole, resided. They joked about seeing each other, both knowing it wasn’t likely. Clay had actually moved since they had dated, away from her, because of how unhealthy the relationship was. 

They had been off and on for almost three years, having one-night stands or weeks of being together, and then a month or so of hating each other’s guts. Part of the problem was that they lived so close. When Clay or Nicole felt lonely, they would call each other, and shit would just happen with them, it had always been like that. Clay eventually was talked out of the relationship by George, and a month after cutting her off, he ended up moving out of South Beach. He told people it was because he was getting too old for the party scene, but he and George knew the real reason. Eventually, obviously, he unblocked her out of pity, and that was where the mistake started.

Now, thinking about visiting his old residence, Clay felt a twinge of guilt. Was he asking his friends to escape with him because of some weird thing with Nicole? Did some part of him want to do things with her? Surely that was in the past, but that didn't stop his fingers from flying across the keyboard in response. 

_Yeah, yeah. Hey I’m gonna be in sb this weekend actually, idk if that means anything to you but I figured I could mention it_

He sent it without thinking, and seconds later, the message was read and a reply was being typed.

_You’re kidding! I’d love to hang, what day are you coming??_

The guilt leaned over Clay’s shoulder, watching his message log grow longer with every letter as he told Nicole when they were coming and where they were going. She seemed a bit too ecstatic about it, but he brushed it off. He knew he was falling back into his old patterns, but the worst part of him didn't care. 

Suddenly, a banner appeared at the top of his screen.

_Yes we have to do this Clay, there’s no way we don’t. I’m hype_

George.

He had replied to the group about visiting South Beach, and it was like a tidal wave came over Clay. He almost forgot about George and how he felt until he saw the text. That alone should have been his clue to leave Nicole in the past. Reassuring himself that he was going to see her as a friend, he felt a bit better, but it was like throwing a bandaid over a gunshot wound.

This was going to need more than a bandaid. 

That night, as he was getting ready for bed, Clay felt a chill and went to look for his warmest sweatshirt. He searched through his closet, but found nothing, then remembered he had left it with George by accident a few weeks ago when they’d gone grocery shopping together. He backed up and sat down on the edge of his mattress, where he slept with no bed frame, quickly dialing George’s number from memory. As the tone played, Patches pushed his door open and sauntered into the room, tail held high. Looping between his legs, she meowed loudly at him. 

“What is it, sweetie?” Clay said softly, just as George picked up. 

“What did you call me?” Came George’s indignant reply.

Clay laughed heartily, to Patches disdain at the sudden noise. “No, no, I was talking to Patches.” He ran his hand over her back in an attempt to calm her down, but she continued to mew at him. 

“What’s up?”

“Oh, yeah. I left my sweatshirt at your house, do you happen to have it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Want me to come by? I’m wearing my pajamas, but-“

“Nah dude, I’ll come over in a minute. Give me a sec.”

Clay hung up the phone and scooped Patches up in his arms, cradling her like a baby. He touched his nose to hers and once again asked what she wanted. They walked down the hallway into the kitchen, and he noticed the time. 

“Oh, whoops. You’re hungry, aren’t you?” H couldn’t believe he had forgotten.

Clay filled up her food bowl and topped off her water before he left the house, blowing her a kiss as he walked out the door. As Clay backed his car out of his parking spot, he wondered if he should tell George what he’d been thinking about. Surely George felt it too, the lingering touches and heavy breaths, those looks had to mean something, right? As he slowed to stop at a traffic light, Clay made himself a deal. If he felt that there had been three for sure signs in George’s body language tonight, he would bring it up. If not, he would save it for another day. 

Pulling into the steep driveway of George’s tiny, one bedroom home, Clay felt nervous to see George. This was probably the first time that had ever happened. Could this be how George always felt? He scaled the driveway and squeaked open the metal gate that led to George’s front door. His yard was very cute, with an adorable rock pathway leading you between flower beds where George had worked for hours to make them look the best they could. There were rocks and flowers, moss and mushrooms, even a small sapling of a purple crepe myrtle tree. Stepping through the gate was like walking into another world, a jungle the likes of which Florida had never seen. To Clay, it was a sign of George’s care for living things and attention to detail.

The night air caused Clay to shiver a bit while he stood on the porch, knocking twice sharply. Soon enough, George opened it with a grin. 

“Hiya!” He said happily. 

Welcoming Clay in and noticing his shiver, he threw the dark green sweatshirt at him. 

“Thanks so much,” Clay said, almost immediately putting it over his head. He felt one last rush of cold air over his stomach when he lifted his arms up, and then the sweatshirt was over his head. He poked his head out of the hood to find George looking at him with an almost amused smile, and his mind raced for a second. Was that a moment? Should I count that? But whatever it was had already passed by the time it crossed his mind. Clay nervously twisted a strand of his hair around his finger while George was telling him about something that happened while he was out with some friends over the kitchen counter. 

“It was seriously so funny,” he was saying, “you should’ve been there.”

“Invite me next time.” It was a challenge, not a question, albeit an attempt at a joke. 

“Oh, uh, okay?” The sudden seriousness in Clay’s voice seemed to put George off. 

“If you want to, I mean. Sorry, that sounded aggressive.” Clay sat down on a bar stool across the counter from George. He rested his elbows on the counter and folded his hands into each other. 

“Of course I want to!” His voice softened. “I’m always down to hangout with you, Clay.”

Something about the way George said his name seemed... different, and Clay decided to count that as one. George leaned a bit closer across the counter, and Clay’s mind got off track. Wait, was that one or two? And what about the leaning towards me? Now they were having a sort of contest to see who would look away first. George lost, of course. He looked down at Clay’s hands resting atop the granite, and Clay followed his eyes downwards towards his clasped fingers.

He thought about grabbing George’s shirt right now and pulling him closer, telling him softly that they could hang out whenever, and-

“So, um, anyways,” George cleared his throat and leaned away. “I was thinking about this plan for the weekend earlier.”

Clay’s stomach sank as he was pulled back to reality. Did George know what Clay had in the back of his mind?

“You don’t want to go just to, like, I don’t know...”

He knew.

“See Nicole?”

Clay sighed. “Of course not, George. I want to go so I can hangout with you. And Nick and Darryl,” he added quickly. 

“So you’re not gonna be seeing Nicole?” Was that hope in his voice? And if so, did that make two or three? Or four...?

“Well, not exactly,” Clay stood up from his seat and rested heavier on the counter. “We may get together, but it's not like _that_.”

“Clay.” 

The gentle reproach in George’s voice should have felt condescending, but to Clay it was a welcome disapproval, like he had been waiting for George to say something about it so he could call the whole thing off. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. She’s just going through a rough patch, and-“

“Clay, you know that’s not true! She says that every time you try to get out of visiting her.”

A break in conversation while Clay was rendered quiet to consider this.

“You did try to get out of it, right? We talked about how it’s not healthy for you two to carry on like this.”

“I know, George, but… she just always seems so genuine. I just keep thinking, what if one time, she really does need me?” Clay had forgotten his list at this point. “I hate thinking about it, but what if something happens and it's my fault?”

George’s tough expression dissolved, and he stepped around the counter to stand next to Clay and put his arm around him. “You aren’t responsible for others. You have to keep reminding yourself of that.”

Clay hated looking like he didn't have it together, but at this point he didn't care. His emotions had risen so high in the past hour that worries he had about feelings for George or anything of the sort had left his mind, and all he could think about was keeping the tears down. He turned towards his friend, burying his face in the smaller man’s shoulder and took a shaky breath. 

“Hey…” George faced Clay completely and started to rub his back in small circles in an attempt to calm him. 

“I just feel so… small.” Clay certainly sounded small. “I want to help everyone. My family, my friends, even my viewers. But there’s just too many.” His voice broke. “There’s too many people to help, George. I can’t do it.”

“Clay, it's okay. It’s okay, you don’t need to help them. You already do so much for everyone, okay? You’re doing your best and that’s what’s important.”

Clay sniffled.

“You have to take care of yourself too, you know.”

“I know,” Clay admitted, pulling back from his friend’s hug and going to sit down on the couch. “I don’t think I’m doing very well, George,” he said sadly. 

“What makes you say that?” George followed his friend, sitting next to him and looking intently into his eyes. 

“I don’t know, man. I feel like I’m going crazy. I forgot to feed Patches today until it was almost two hours late. I haven't talked to my sister in forever, my sleep schedule is fucked, and this week I've been all over the place. On the way here, I made this stupid list, and…” Clay hesitated. “Never mind, that example is dumb. Bottom line, I’m not doing good.”

“No, I get what you mean. Streaming can be a lot.”

“It’s not just streaming, though, George, it's so much more.”

George looked at him quizzically, eyebrows pressed together. “What do you mean “more”? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Clay’s chest was buzzing with nerves. He always told his friend how he was doing and why, since the beginning of their friendship. George sat with him when Clay’s childhood dog had passed away, when his grandma was in the hospital, when Clay broke his arm in middle school. They had gone through it all together. 

“George…”

Forget lists. Forget trying to decipher the soft touches and longing looks, Clay didn't care. Risking George’s reaction was worth the truth.

“George, it's you.”

“Me? Did I do something wrong?” 

The nerves swelled in Clay’s throat as he reached over and grabbed George’s soft, warm hand in his own clammy, cold one. “No George. You’re why I’m so scattered. My feelings are everywhere.”

George froze, his voice eerily quiet. “Clay. What are you talking about?”

“I thought I was just drunk, George, but I’m sober now and I know what I want.” His other hand lifted, almost by itself, to George’s cheek. Clay gently stroked his face with his thumb, feeling the tickle of George’s unshaven face on his fingertips, each sensation sending shockwaves through his body. He looked on in awe at his own hand, in disbelief of reality. 

“Clay…” George said it like a warning, but not for Clay, for himself.

“I want you, George.”

Clay leaned in and suddenly it was happening. His hand still resting on George’s face, their lips were locked in momentary silence, nothing but their own beating hearts moving. Then it turned to an inconsiderate kiss, they both had a need to feel each other as quick as possible. Clay’s hand hurried from his partner’s face down his neck and over his shoulder, coming to rest on his chest for a moment, back up to his face and then over his back. It was a race to see who could touch the most of each other at the fastest pace. George’s skin made his fingertips feel like fire, feeding the swirling ocean of emotion inside him. As if in sync, they both pulled away at the same time to breathe. 

He had kissed George. It was messy, and rushed, and breathless, but he had done it. And he pulled away, grinning, looking straight into George’s dark eyes, those long, dark lashes that had first pulled him in fluttering in shock. George’s mouth was open, and his face was flushed bright red, from lack of air or embarrassment or something else, Clay could not tell.

“Clay…” George started to speak, but got lost in it.

Clay’s spirit faltered and he prepared himself for harsh words. “Look, George, I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted, I'll leave if you want me to. The past few days, it’s just been-“

And then it was happening again, but George started it, to Clay’s delight. George was in control of their movements for a moment, but Clay soon gently wrapped his hand around George’s neck, adding slight pressure and causing their kiss to end up even more intense. Taking charge, Clay did what he had wanted to do since these feelings had surfaced.

He grabbed a handful of George’s shirt in his hand, and pushed George backwards onto the couch cushions, toppling them with his own weight. His own breath was loud with his nose pressed against George’s cheek as he straddled him, and he pushed his chin into the kiss. His breath was like he had just run a mile a minute. George had both hands cradling Clay’s face, and Clay was resting on his elbow on the couch next to George’s head, the other wandering down George’s side and slipping under his soft blue t-shirt.

When they finally broke apart, George let out a breathy laugh. “You okay?” 

“I am… wonderful.” Clay replied, resting his forehead on George’s chest and taking a moment to let his lungs catch up with his need for air. 

Face red, George couldn't stop smiling. “I think I am too.”

“You think?”

Catching his breath, George said, “Well, yeah, that was wonderful. But...”

Clay held his breath and tried to focus on the rising and falling of George’s chest underneath his cheek. “But?”

“But it is a lot to process.”

“That is fair.” Clay moved to look up at George, resting his chin on him. “The past day has been so fucking weird.”

“So,” George started, and Clay helped him sit up, noticing the more serious tone in his voice. “Are you… gay?”

Clay shrugged, not expecting _that_ out of all things George could say.

“Okay, well, I've been thinking and I think I might be. I mean, I just realized that I might be about a month ago, and I've been thinking about it almost non-stop since then.”

Clay tilted his head. “So you haven’t always known?”

“No, this is brand-new for me.”

“I don’t know what I am,” Clay said decidedly.

“That’s okay, too. You don’t have to know. I just like to figure things out, I don’t like not knowing.”

Clay smiled at him. “I know,” he said softly. 

George looked down to hide his own grin. Clay crossed his legs up on the couch and leaned in to touch George’s nose with his own. “What are we?” He asked bluntly.

“Way to ruin the moment.” George leaned away and sighed. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair. I’m just nervous about people knowing about… me.”

There was a pause, an _almost_ uncomfortable silence. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have…” George trailed off, but they both knew what he was going to say. It left the air heavier than before. “Just give me some time.”

“Done,” Clay determined, “As much time as you need. Are you still coming with us to South Beach this weekend?”

George nodded.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you then? Maybe you can tell me your decision then. I’m sorry if this was my fault, or if I-“

“Clay, no. It's not you at all, I’m sorry. I just don’t like being so confused and anxious about everything,” a pause. “Except you. I know I want you.”

Clay felt his worries soothed and his feelings soar. Never mind the uncertainties, they wanted each other! It wasn’t a dream or a passing thought in a drunken stupor. They wanted to be together. Now it was in George’s hands what to do with this. 

“Okay, well, I guess I'll head home and give you some time to think.”

George stood and helped pull Clay to his feet. “One more kiss couldn’t hurt, right? Just to help me make up my mind.”

Clay smiled, dizzy with all the things he was feelings, and helped George as best he could.


	4. Trope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George gets honest with his feelings the only way he really knows how and hopes for the best, then the group set off on their adventure to Miami. (In short, beach episode sometime soon.)

The next morning, when Clay awoke, he let the sun from the window warm his body for a moment. In his sleepy state, he had forgotten what had happened the night before, but the second he remembered, his eyes flew open and he grunted to a sitting position. Clay grabbed his phone off the charger and it lit up with a goodnight text from George, and something his mom had sent him. With a smile, he tapped the notification from George and pulled his legs into a lotus position under his sheets. 

_Goodnight, Clay. Glad you got home safe._

It was so brief, so short-winded, so… George. 

Clay couldn’t help but smile, even with the little content the message contained. These new feelings were something he hadn’t felt in awhile, if ever. He had had feelings for people in the past, of course, but this was different. He could feel it. It was warmer, felt more like a hug. The feelings hurt and felt good all at once, beckoning him in with gentle rain and then enveloping him in a hailstorm of emotions all at once. 

Clay tended to jump headfirst into these types of situations, which was evident in his last relationships. That “fuck it, we’re slowly dying on a planet that’s deteriorating at an alarming rate” mentality had somewhat matured into a cautious curiosity, where Clay sought out this soaring feeling while a also testing the waters beforehand. He wondered how George was feeling. Was he even awake yet? Clay began typing a new message to George. 

_Hiya :)_

After sending it, he held his phone with two hands for a moment watching the screen intently, but after nothing changed, he switched over to Twitter and began scrolling. He saw a few pieces of fan art that he really enjoyed, and made a note to interact with them on his alt account. He usually saved his main Twitter for important updates.

He noticed a comic about him and George, which he saw in a new light since his feelings had blossomed. This one was one of their SMP characters inside George’s house that he had built during a big event on the SMP, and they were talking about something serious, but Clay interrupted George with an impromptu kiss. The comic ended with another character, Fundy, looking through the window at them with a saddened face, which related to the plot of the SMP so far, and Clay smiled. It was cute, but he didn’t want to like or retweet because that always gave people ideas about the two of them. 

His gaze began to drift from his screen as he let his mind zone out. He thought back to their conversation last night and finally allowed himself to think of the worst, preparing his heart and mind for it in case of emergency. What if George didn't want anything to do with Clay after thinking it through? Clay knew that of course, he would respect George’s feelings, but it would hurt like hell to not kiss him again. Clay’s skin burned anywhere it wasn’t being touched by George, and it had been for weeks now. 

His feelings towards the weekend trip were tumultuous. On one hand, he was excited to go party in South Beach, and the prospect of George wanting a relationship with him sent his heart practically running out of his chest. On the opposite side of the coin were his nerves after agreeing to meet up with Nicole, as he hated backing out of plans, but also feeling like he would be betraying George if he went. Not to mention, the insane amount of emotion tied to George’s decision. 

Clay drug himself out of bed, still pondering the situation, and jogged downstairs to make himself and Patches something to eat. Following closely behind, her whiskers brushed his ankles as they walked, and Clay smiled down at her when he paused at the kitchen counter. Reaching over the white and grey marble, he effortlessly grabbed the bag of cat food from it's perch high up on the top shelf of the doorless cabinets and scooped an even cup out for her. She meowed a thank you while he poured his own bowl of cereal, his favorite brand of sugar-covered wheat. Clay mindlessly thought about how George would probably get onto him for eating so much junk right at the start of his day. 

Continuously throughout his day, Clay would think of George. Little pockets of his day were devoted to appreciating his best friend, something not entirely out of the ordinary, but definitely _different_ than before. While he was at the store, he threw George’s favorite snack food into his cart without fully knowing why. While he made dinner, he played one of George’s playlists and hummed along to nearly every song. It came as easily as his thoughts did, as if his heart had known the whole time, running these feelings for George in the background unbeknownst to Clay’s conscious train of thought. Now that he realized, though, he was full speed ahead into the unknown. 

George was once again standing in his bathroom, clutching his t-shirt in a tight, pale fist, feeling his quick and heavy heartbeat through the layer of cotton and polyester. He was trying, and failing, to calm his shaky breathing by rubbing the fabric of his shirt with his thumb, and the other hand was close to bleeding from how much he had been biting his nails down to the quick. 

This had been happening more and more often. For one of the only few times in his life, George did not know where he placed in the world. Every way he looked at the situation, there was a pushback from somewhere. He obviously had very strong feelings for Clay, that wasn’t the question. The question lay in the way he dealt with those feelings. He could ignore them, and maybe they would go away, but would that hurt Clay and him in the process? He could also tell Clay that he wanted to be with him, ignoring the internalized homophobia screaming at him, but that raised a whole new set of questions dealing with coming out to his family members and friends, not to mention his viewers. Just thinking about it made his breath shorter and heart rate speed up, and that was before George even considered the concept of dating Clay but keeping it a secret from everyone else they knew. As his emotions spiraled, George needed clarity. He wanted something to stabilize him and calm him down, and to his own surprise, his heart had one request. 

_Clay._

Okay, well, maybe it wasn’t so much of a surprise, but just thinking his name was like coming up from too long under the water. George gasped an entire breath, filling his lungs, and sank to the cold tile floor. 

With this kind of hold over George, Clay could ask anything of him and he would comply. George knew he would have to admit how he felt to Clay, no strings attached, and have an honest conversation about their feelings and the best way to deal with them. 

Shit.

George was, to say the least, not very good at sharing his inner thoughts. The idea of someone knowing him deeply both intrigued him and terrified him to his core. He desired to be understood, but it was hard to imagine a world where the words tumbled from his lips the way they did Clay’s. Why was it so easy for him and so hard for George? Then, an epiphany. George stood quickly from the floor, his gangly legs getting mixed up and his head growing light with the speed at which he rose. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and rubbed his eyes, hoping to dilute the red from them that always showed up after he’d been stress-crying, and strode out of the bathroom, making his way back to his computer chair.

George sat down and opened up a document, and started typing. He typed his every thought, use letting it tumble out of him before he could remind himself what this document actually _was_. He sat for almost a full hour typing furiously, pouring his entire heart out, backspacing and making sure he spelled every word right and used adjectives and verbs that perfectly expressed what he had been thinking. When he was done, he breathed deep, a sigh of relief almost. He had a feeling you get after you’re sick; like all of the things inside that were making him sick from how overwhelmed he was had finally been spit from his body. And now...

It was a letter.

He was ready to send it, but felt that a text was too informal. He opened his email, where he and Clay had discussed things related to scheduling streams or other “work” related things. He opened a new message and pasted the document, leaving the subject blank. He entered Clay’s email and then stared at his cursor, blinking in the sea of empty white pixels of the body. He started typing, _Hey Clay, just wanted to share-_ but quickly backspaced. 

“Stupid,” he muttered. 

_Hi._

Okay, that’s a start.

_I just wanted to share how I felt about you. You know I’m not the best with words, so I figured writing it down and sending it now would be easier than admitting it to your face this weekend, so, here._

George’s thumb hovered over the mouse to click _send_ as he reviewed his spelling one final time. Taking one more of a hundred deep breaths he’d already taken today, he clicked. A gentle whoosh sound effect came from his computer speakers, and he actually heard it loud and clear. His head was surprisingly quiet, at peace, almost. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, making it softly creak as it reclined. 

He pictured Clay in his head, reading the email, thick brows furrowed and creased as he leaned over his phone, email open and quickly being scrolled through, once, and then he would go all the way back up to the top and read it again, slowly this time. It reminded Clay of their former years, in which Clay was entirely made up of hurried lines and rough sketches, busy weekends and a flurry of activities to occupy him during the week. His mouth was constantly moving too, as if it had to keep up with his body. George would sit while Clay rushed around him, eyes and smile wide as he observed. Clay tended to get a bit out of control sometimes, too many thrown together plans, and George was always there to take his hand and reassure him. 

“Why did I tell them I could hangout today,” Clay would half-yell, pacing the floor, “I knew I had too much work to get done.”

And George would give him a minute to yell it out, then reach out for his arm. “Clay?” His voice was always soft, never too loud. 

And his friend would turn, face flushed, towards him. 

“It’s okay, okay?”

And Clay would practically crumble. That wall around him fell as he, too, fell into his friend’s arms. George would help him onto the bed and they would make a social escape plan so that Clay could escape whatever situation he’d gotten himself into, and they were always okay. 

_It’s okay, okay._

George kept telling himself that, but he didn't know if it was true. He needed someone to tell him, so he would know, for sure, that it would actually be okay.

Then his phone went off.

George sat up straight in his chair, and grabbed his phone off the desk, opening the new message as quick as he could. Scanning the message, he slumped back down. It was Clay that had texted him, but it was just about this weekend. 

_Hey how many rooms should I book at the hotel this weekend?_

The nonchalant air of the text made his stomach turn. It didn't seem quite fair that George had to be under the influence of the words he’d sent to Clay, while Clay just got to be completely oblivious to it all. 

_Whatever you think is good._

As the three dots bubbled in the corner of the box, George kind of hoped that Clay would notice his short text and say something.

_Okay then I’m getting one room, one bed, we can all share ;)_

Damn it. 

Why did he have to be funny?

_Get two rooms, four beds, room to spread out. Dumbass_

George set his phone back down and rolled his eyes, a slight smile playing across the corner of his face. Clay really was funny. When they stayed over together they would stay up for hours, even when they were older, just talking and making each other laugh. George kind of missed it. 

He breathed deeply and stood up. No time for reminiscing now. He had to pack. 

“Come on, man. You said I could aux!”

“I said you could aux before you played DaBaby. That’s where I draw the line.”

Using the hand that wasn’t on the wheel, Clay reached over and grabbed the long cord from Nick’s hand, which elicited a groan of protest from Nick and a nervous squeak from Bad in the backseat. 

“Watch the road! You’re swerving all over the place!”

Clay grinned and plugged his own phone into the auxiliary cord without looking, shuffling his Spotify playlist. “Chill out Bad, we’re fine.”

Nick crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet you’d let George aux.”

“You know what? I would!”

“Shut up, you’re such a bitch,” Sapnap crowed belligerently. 

“Language!” Cried Bad from the backseat. 

“No, I have taste. And so does George.”

Clay pulled his car into George’s driveway and pulled out his phone to text him that they were there to pick him up. The group had decided they should all drive to South Beach together, as to save money, and pay Clay for gas. The cash sat in a haphazard pile that was overflowing Clay’s cup holders, and while they waited for George, Bad attempted to sort it out. 

Nick had softened by the time they saw George walking out of the house and locking it behind him, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “I may have given up the aux but no chance am I giving him shotgun.”

Clay laughed. “I know Sap. He’s in the back, don’t worry.” His exterior was as carefree as ever, but on the inside, Clay was nervous. He hadn’t seen George since they had talked about him needing time to think about what he wanted. So far, all of George’s texts had been about the trip or lighthearted banter, and Clay wondered if he was going to try and sweep this under the rug. If George tried that, he simply wouldn't let him. The way Clay wanted him was like nothing he had ever felt before. At this point it wasn’t even a want, but a need. If the feelings weren’t reciprocated, of course he’d back off, but Clay would not let this just be ignored. 

“Hello, guys,” George grinned, and a chorus of greetings were sung back at him. The group chatted aimlessly for the first bit of their journey, but soon devolved into jokes that gave way to comfortable silence. George looked out the window, mind adrift, and let himself be lulled into the sounds of the road. George’s eyes wandered about the scenery, but soon found his way back to looking in Clay’s direction without fully realizing it. The slope of his neck was so pretty, freckled and bare, his t-shirt coming up to meet it with a beautiful green that complimented his pinkish complexion very well. _I wonder if he’s read my email yet,_ George wondered offhandedly (for the fiftieth time that day) with his eyes glued to Clay’s jawline. He couldn’t help but think about how nice Clay would look with love marks trailing the side of his neck.

George, now red, shook the thought from his head and looked back out the window. _Focus on the trip,_ he told himself. He was absolutely not trying to drag his friends into this… whatever it was with Clay. He loved every second of it (when he wasn’t attacking himself for it) but it was much too dramatic for them to be involved. They would complicate things, especially before the two decided what they were going to do about it. 

Clay, in the driver's seat, was wishing he could see George from his angle. Not for any reason in particular, he just liked looking at him, it settled his stomach. He wondered if George could be looking at him too, then smiled to himself. _Probably._ Clay had actually noticed this long before their current situation, George could be caught looking at Clay at almost any given moment. Clay figured it was just habit; George was his best friend. He knew when something was wrong without a word from Clay, always observant and kind. _I guess there was more to that,_ Clay mulled. But there was more to a lot of things they did, Clay was starting to realize. 

As kids, they were almost always touching. Holding hands, hugging, cuddling, even. They did that until they were old enough to be made fun of for it, but they still did in private. They shared literally _everything_. George used to bring coffee by Clay’s house at least twice a week, and in repayment, Clay was constantly bringing him dinner or taking him out. Clay had never considered it until recently, but maybe this, _George,_ was something he’d wanted for awhile. It just felt so different from any of the girls he liked or had been with. Being around him was like walking on a frozen, rushing, river. You don’t know you’re in it until you’d gone too far, and by the time you realize it you’re in way over your head. Clay was drowning in the way George’s hand felt in his; drowning in the way his lips tasted. Girls were… nice. They were soft. But they didn't feel like this. George was electric, lighting Clay up with a single touch, and being with girls felt like a performance, a show Clay put on for his family and friends to show them, Hey, I did the milestone, are you proud of me yet?

But…

George hadn’t said anything yet. Clay’s insides were burning with nerves as he thought about it. _Why hadn’t he said anything?_ The possibilities were almost endless. Maybe they shouldn’t have gone on this trip. Maybe if he had stayed home, he’d be feeling less anxious. Clay knew this wasn’t true, but he kept telling himself that he could have prevented this if he had only changed _blank_ about the situation. 

If George cared, he would’ve said something by now. 

The group pulled into their hotel just before midnight, and even with their fucked sleep schedules, they were exhausted from travel.

“My bed better be comfy.” Nick grumbled. “Oh, AND there better be extra pillows, or I’m taking Bads.”

“Hey! What?! No you’re not.”

“Yup,” Nick retorted, exaggerating the p with a pop, “Or else, I beat your ass in checkers at that Cracker Barrel tomorrow morning.”

“Nick, please,” George groaned as he climbed out of the backseat, “Why are you so confrontational. I’m tired, and we haven’t even decided who’s in which room. Who says you’re with Bad?”

“I do.” Clay said, slamming the trunk behind him and tossing their bags to the ground. “George, you’re with me. Bad and Sap, you’re together.”

“Suck it, Bad,” said Nick with a lazy grin. 

“Oh whatever. I for one don’t mind bunking with my GOOD friend who is very rude to me, _by the way_.” The amount of emphasis and sarcasm on the sharp retort weighed two tons at least. 

Clay knew it was petty to make George bunk with him, but it wasn’t like they were sleeping in the same bed or anything. He just wanted the truth, and the more time spent with George meant more opportunities for the truth to spill, or at least more time alone so Clay could ask. Plus, George didn't complain about it. 

They got signed in and pooled their money equally for the rooms, and Nick and Bad argued the entire way up the elevator and down the hall. 

“Listen, pancakes are just objectively better than waffles!”

“Bad. Do you hear yourself right now?”

“I- Yes!” Bad sputtered, “I’m just saying how I feel.”

Clay hit Nick’s arm to notify him they had passed right by their room, and Nick quickly shut up so they could explore their new room. Bad and Nick scrambled to get to the door first and unlock it, but George pulled Clay’s sleeve to lead him a few doors down, beckoning him to speak privately. Clays heart jumped. Was it happening now? Was George about to tell him what he wanted?

“Listen,” George said slowly, “I have to ask you a favor.”

“Yeah?”

Clay's heart was beating so hard he thought he saw it shaking his t-shirt. 

“I don’t think I have enough money for the whole trip.”

All of his breath whooshed out of him at once. _Oh._

George looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry to even ask, but… could you help me out later in the weekend? I’m not even sure if I'll run out, but I wanted to be prepared just in case-“

“Yeah.” Clay cut him off, and George was slightly taken aback. “Yeah, I’d be happy too, don’t worry about it.”

Clay was brimming with anger, set to explode any minute. And then, a voice from inside the room that Nick and Bad had just fallen over themselves getting into.

“Clay! What the fuck!”

And then, quieter, “Language!”

Clay angrily huffed in George’s face, blowing his hair up from his forehead, and turned on his heel, marching down the hall towards the other room.

George was taken aback by his reaction, and rightfully upset about it as well. Why was Clay being so unfair to him right now? George told himself it was just the long drive affecting him, but couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Clay had read the document he’d sent him. He tore his eyes from Clay and began to make his way toward their room, across the hall from their friends, but Clay ran up behind him as he was inserting the key card. 

“Hold on, George, I need to check something.” Clay gently moved him out of the way with an arm and opened the door himself, shoving it open with his shoulder and dragging his bag behind him. He flipped on the lights and all of the sudden, it hit George like a rock, why Bad and Nick were upset.

“There’s only one bed.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

George looked at the back of Clay’s head in disbelief. He had to have read it, right? That’s why he was avoiding him? It’s not like they hadn’t slept in the same bed before, so why was it different now? George was panicking over that, while Clay was using the room phone to call the front desk. He was putting on his customer service voice for now, but it was so tinged with passive aggression George knew, Clay was like a time bomb. 

He partially wanted to go over to him and take his hand, and tell him they could work this out in a minute after everyone was a bit more calm, but George decided it wasn’t worth it tonight. Yanking on sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt while Clay’s voice droned in the background, getting progressively louder. George fell into the bed and threw the covers over himself, shutting off his bedside lamp to signal he was ready for bed. _Thank God for the extra pillows_ , he thought, as he held one over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading as always :) Don’t forget to leave Kudos + a comment if you enjoyed it! It helps me out a lot!


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